WELCOME TO DREAMWIDTH, HERO...

[Coming live from her home office-- not the lair, for a change. She's moved back out-- and she's got both hands in view, though one is notably paler than the other. Eight weeks in a cast and fixator does that. Still, it's finally off and she's feeling pretty good about that, at least.]

Well, it looks like the city is business as usual -- except for the whole business with communicators, Skrulls, and murder of government officials. [So -- not at all usual, okay? Which is usual for the City, and for people like Roxanne, but maybe not for some of the other denizens of the City.] Oh, and some interesting crimes popping up in the Skrull aftermath. Hair as a murder weapon? Pretty gross.

So as I compile my reports for the Skrull invasion-- I'm inviting anybody who'd like to speak with me to do so, so I can have a clear look to go with my previous information -- the live coverage has been cleaned up and put up on the imPact site and is available for review... [A beat.] Though it has since been edited for content. If there's something you need for -- ah, specific purposes, contact me and I'll see about getting you the unedited footage.

In the mean time -- what good things have happened to you? I got my cast and fixator removed. The scarring is minimal, I can wear my watch on the right wrist and stop itching in places I can't scratch. Oh, and I no longer have to worry about laying very still or possibly jabbing myself when I sleep.

So -- what's your tiny ray of sunshine as we head into March? It sure came in like a lion, on the imPort front. Let's hope it heads out like a lamb.

[LIVE REPORTING; Roxanne Ritchi stands before the smoking remains of a building.]

Good evening City; we're here on site at a local blood bank where there was a break in and homicide last night. Here at the East Side blood bank, which supplies [locations] with much needed donar blood for medical purposes, a lot more then blood was taken last night.

[Splitview; photo of 30-something security guard, noted that the photo was donated by family] Leonard Coleson was killed last night during his rounds, likely when he came upon burglars in the act. However, this crime has a unique twist from the City -- the building was torched, but investigators were able to recover Mr. Coleson's body, and determine cause of death -- being drained of blood from multiple bite wounds.

However, further investigaton has revealed that is is more wide spread that our own City blood bank. Discovered that similar reports are coming out of Cleveland, Ohio -- and as far away as Berlin, Germany, though there have been no fatality reported in those burglaries.

Does the City have a vampire problem? City authorities are not ruling out the possbility. At this point, authorities are looking into possible connections between the other locations. Anyone with any information about these cases is urged to contact City Police as soon as possible.

Also, due to the loss of much-needed blood supplies, we urge you to consider donating at your local facility.

This is Roxanne Ritchi, live at the East Side Blood Bank.

[That's Roxanne, doing a bit better then one last saw her, though she's angled that camera to keep her arm (and it's condition, whatever it may be) off screen. Either she doesn't want someone to know she's still laid up, or she done got it fixed. It is a mystery!]

But she's in her office, at least, that much is apparent, so this is a WayneTech Media office recording. All shiny and official.]

You know what's great about being a journalist sometimes? The laws that our lovely country has set up to ensure freedom of the press. Things like being able to speak to someone, say, who might've engaged in illegal activity to learn more about those illegal activities -- but having federal protections that do not require me to give up said source. There are days in the City where this comes into play.

I expect with some of our more recent events to play into that. So -- if you might know anything about attacks on Vulcanus, what was found and seen, what was done -- I'm pretty sure a lot of other people, a wider audience who may not be aware of the ramifications of the scene... would love to know too. And the more people know, the harder it is for the bodies to be buried, if you get my drift.

[Private to Candy Deconnick.]

I know you're on the run -- but if you get this-- if it's not a huge risk, any information you can get to me would be invaluable in getting these people publically revealed, shamed, and fought in new arenas. It's not all about blowing up places-- though that has it's part to play.

People need to know the hows and the whys. And they need to know who to really root for, so that this doesn't blowback on imPorts, or can't be spun by the opposition as a bunch of loonies in tights oppressing the little guy so they too can't join the looneis in tights brigade.

If you get this and can get back to me, great. Doesn't have to be in person -- anything you can send or get to me by any means will be a boon to the anti-Vulcanus action.

[The camera comes to focus on Roxanne Ritchi's home office- in the distance, obscured, her cork board covered with papers and notes, photographs and lines, but the background is in soft focus, so none of it's legible. Roxanne herself -- cup of morning coffee, dressed and prepped for a day of work.]

[Conspicuously absent? Brainbots.]


Good Morning, City; we're just a few days out from the New Year. 2012 is slated to be the end of the world by the Mayan Calendar, though I'm pretty sure the last few predictions of the end of the world fell flat, so I'm not re-arranging my life to worry about it.

However, it's also the time for those pesky resolutions most of us don't keep-- the number one that people make is not to buck the Christmas pounds, but to spend more time with friends and family. A difficult proposition, here in the City, where friends may be far away and family nonexistent unless you're one of the lucky few.

Exercise and battling the pounds comes up as close second and third, though, so don't feel bad if you're in that boat -- you'll be in good company. Ditching bad habits like drinking and smoking, staying out of debt, enjoying life more, volunteering and getting organized-- they're all high on the list.

Me? I'm considering giving some heed to a friend's advice and looking into self-defense classes. Learning something new is in the top ten resolutions, so -- I guess I'm not alone in broadening my horizons. What about you, imPorts? We're on the cusp of another new year-- how are you going to change your life?

Or are you going to bother with making resolutions at all? If you're not making a change in your life--or resolving to, anyway--are you taking stock of what you've done in the City this last year? Was it crushing woes, or were there great successes? Did you find love? Get dumped? I got a new boss, bought a house, and rolled with the punches they City's swung at me.

So -- City, what was 2011 like for you, and where will you be on New Year's Eve, as 2012 comes to greet us, and what are you going to do with it, Porter willing?

[She takes up her coffee, smile still in place, and ends the feed. Then she records a couple of private messages and sends them out:]


[Private to Donna Troy]

I have a friend who thinks he might like to try his hand at music criticism. It's. Ah.

It's an alternate universe Roger Waters. I'm not kidding. I said I'd let you know, in case you're looking for a music reviewer at City Lights.



[Private to Hal Stewart]

[She's-- still got her smile on, but it's-- less vibrant, slightly more strained. But still, she needs to make this effort. For Hal, for Megamind-- for herself, as much as either of them.]

Hal. I'm-- sorry I haven't been in touch. I'd like to talk to you sometime, if that's alright?

[The camera is on, and Roxanne is apparently getting ready to leave to go somewhere; not to dressed up, though she's checking her make up and putting on a pair of earrings; seems like tonight is the night to not be in the house under any circumstances. She glances to the camera, giving it a small smile, before she continues with her prep and speaks.]

There is not enough booze in the City in which to drown my particular sorrows, tonight, so I'm not even going to try. Well, not very hard, anyway.

Personally, I'd rather hear your tales of woe than indulge in my own. What's the particularly bad turn you've gotten recently? Porter brought back someone you hate? Someone you love, who doesn't remember you? Someone gone from your life? Recently stick your toe into the heroic or villainous end of the pool? Powers got you down? What has taken your sunshine away and given you doom and gloom in it's place?

Heck, if it's good enough, I'll buy you a drink somewhere for it.

[Prep finished, she grabs her coat and slides it on. 'Guard the house', she says to the brainbots, and then reaches out and takes the communicator, cutting the feed.]

We're here at the annual Thanksgiving Day parade...

[Roxanne Ritchi was just doing her thing; standing over on that place reserved for the press, her badge in clear view. Talking to a brainbot run camera about Thanksgiving and family and keeping that smile on because she's riding the wave of pleasant happy emotions from the people around who are excited for the parade, happy to be with their families. She doesn't have anything like that to go home to; just an empty house and Megamind's robots. The swell of emotion from the crowd makes it easy to forget that, and just do her job. Discussing the affect of imPorts on the City, on characters now lost from local fiction and how they are replaced.]

[Oh well; at least Snoopy's still there, right?]

[But then something goes wrong in the background. Actually, several things start to go wrong. A balloon ruptures. And then another. They're a good distance away from the action, though -- so far. Nearly everybody on the press barge goes silent in their reports for a while, and all of them turn, Roxanne among them.]

What the...

[She drops the mic a bit, and watches as it all goes wrong. People are starting to shout, starting to scream. Waves of motion roll through the crowd - someone's dropped a boulder in an otherwise calm pond of humanity, and it's starting to see ripples.]

[softly, barely heard, over Roxanne's mic:]

No pain -- just fear. Terror. Not hurting-- starting to-- oh--

[There's a brief moment of scuffle on camera; the people there on the press barge don't know what they're seeing at first, but Roxanne does. She grabs the nearest by the arm, and yanks her yard to get her attention. Roxanne is white to the lips, but she has it together. She didn't survive years of this sort of crap by losing it when everything went wrong.]

Gas attack. You've got to go. We've got to get out of here-- don't panic, stay calm. You will be fine if you stay calm. Get your crew and go. Go.

[The cloud is expanding in the distance, swallowing up more people as the gas disperses. It's all over, really, in a matter of seconds as the sickly stuff washes over the crowd, down roads and alleys.]

[Roxanne helps them get down off the press barge; she has no crew to wrangle her and so has extra hand to help delicate pretty ladies from television stations and their bumbling camera men down-- directing the brainbots to keep their eyes on the action as they move. After that, it's just Roxanne is no longer on screen - but she's still on the air. Her and her microphone, a tumble of noise against the image of that mass of gas. Eventually, it reaches the brainbots; thankfully, they don't panic. They're robots. That's part of what makes them fantastic tools. But without direction, they simply record the chaos as it unfolds.]

[One might wonder what happened to the reporter. There's really no need to. There's a clatter and a cry of pain that might be hers. Breathing turned rapid, but not yet panicked. The gas has reached her -- or the wave of emotion has, one or the other. There's a thump, a crunch, and the sound goes garbled. A scraping noise, even as the brainbots continue to stream the madness as it unfolds, snippets of chaos caught as the gas begins to disperse over a wider area. Stomping feet and the screams of terrified citizens become the new soundtrack to what looks like a terrorist attack, over a distorted, possibly damaged, microphone. There's no way to tell what sounds are Roxanne's -- or if she's making sound at all, at this point.]

[The rest? It's not pretty.]

[It will continue to be not pretty, until the feed cuts off, much -- much -- later.]




((OOC: Responses will be a day late, per Roxanne is in fear gas central and being trampled by panicked citizens.))

[Cut to an apartment; Roxanne's MAC apartment, to be specific. The brainbots lurk in the background, occasionally bowg bowg'ing among themselves. The shades have been drawn, the lights are a little dim, and Roxanne looks tired, but unbowed.]

Well, congratulations, City, we're still here. Most of us, anyway.

[Her smile is textbook Reporter On Human Tragedy Story; small but not merry, respectful – though it fades quickly enough as she begins to speak. Even she can't fake cheer in the face of what just rolled through the city.]

I don't think I'll need to see anything like a horror film for the next five years; I got more than enough of my share of monster movies that night. But this time it was real people were hurt in defense of the City – and while this isn't a new or shocking turn of events, what they met over Halloween was certainly not the average threat.

To anyone who stayed behind to fight for the City, at risk of life, limb and mental health? Thank you.. I'd also like to extend personal thanks to Kurt Wagner and Kanaya Maryam specifically – thank you for doing your best to keep me safe. I owe you two. For those who may not be familiar with them, Kurt Wagner is one of our imPorts teachers at the Institute, and I'm glad to know such a dependable man willing to risk himself for the safety of others. Kanaya is a fine young woman who is working with the good people at City Lights, and I'm proud to have met her. She's got a good head on her shoulders, even in a crisis.

In a round about way, I've got to thank our comedic friend for his strange little party – if I hadn't been kept back in the City, I wouldn't have spent two days on the edge of losing my mind, only to find clarity at the last moment. A small price to pay for something as monumental as seeing a determined group of people say 'no' to the potential ending of the world.

And now, the important part: beyond are links to a gallery of still photography from the ground and then a building not far from Central Park, as well as files that the brainbots recorded.

What you will see in these files may not shock and horrify you – though it might, so viewer discretion is advised -- but it may certainly make you uncomfortable. Some of these images and files will be graphic. You will see people get hurt. You will see monsters from beyond time and space mangle and rend. So please, if you're one of our more sensitive viewers? Don't go to any of the links I'm going to share. For the love of all that's good, keep your kids from them unless you never want them to sleep again. While I'm certain some of our younger imPorts can handle it, I've got to reiterate: Not everyone will. So please, make your own judgment calls, and if you think this is going to keep you up nights, don't follow the links.

Again, the trite but true phrase, viewer discretion is advised applies.

[And then the links; the still galleries have photography covering most abomination battles – the deeper into the City it gets, the more likely there is to be photos of it. Action shots are crisp and clear, but the SAN affect lingers – it doesn't drive one insane by viewing it, but anything with a good, clear shot of a horror from beyond the stars? Yeah, it's not fun to look at, and continues to carry an eerie, unhappy feeling. However, there it's only snippets of them – it's not nearly so potent.]

[The film suffers the same problem, amped up a little. Some of the brainbots deal with 'shaky cam' affect which doesn't help; here's where you find the footage of Fakthlhu and those who fought him – there are no stills of that battle because, frankly, Roxanne didn't want to die; she stayed away from the big guy, and instead focused on on abominations for photography while allowing the brainbots to cover the big guy's rise and eventual fall.]

[Brainbots also covered the battle in Central Park, if from a very safe distance. There aren't a lot of close ups, but there are plenty of good and identifiable shots of people in the fray, as well as crabhammers and other critters involved in Illidan's madness. ]

And now, viewers, this insane reporter has to catch up on showers and sleep, and will answer all questions as I may be able to do so... later.

To borrow from Edward Murrow; good night, and good luck.

[She reaches out, a new watch on her wrist, and turns off the feed. A truncated, somewhat more edited (and less personal) copy will later go up on the Making an imPact webpage.]

[Good morning, sunshine! Roxanne is sitting at her table, with a number of papers laid out, looking as primly polished as she was before. Only this time, she's had a shower and some sleep - so she's looking a LOT better than her last post. ]

You know, I did some work with refugee groups in my last couple of years of college. People that have been uprooted from their home and transplanted themselves not because they wanted to chase the American Dream, but because they wanted to see the next week, or next day. It's a really amazingly brave thing, to lift yourself from your home culture and move to another, try to integrate, find a new way of life, all simply because you're the wrong ethnic group or religion or color or what have you back home.

The biggest issue was employment and organization; not just working within the boundaries of their new culture, but working with what it demanded of it's people. I mean, I met college educated Iraqis to Sundanese farmers who had no education, but across the board, it was hard to find work. Didn't matter if you had a masters in Journalism from a highly respected Iraqi university -- you might not have proof of education, or an employer may not want to go to the trouble of ringing up an over seas university to find out. And man, if you practiced medicine? Good luck getting re-certified on American terms!

It was really a heck of a system to go through. I volunteered to help teach them how to either find new things to do, or how to get through to potential employers, and how to organize within their own refugee groups to help their communities. It was definitely a learning experience.

Now I'm getting it from the other side. Like it or not, imPorts are refugees -- I'm pretty sure there are plenty of them that have no homes to go back to, or like where they're at better now. Nobody can argue with that, really. Like any displaced group, we've got our rogues and or role models. Some have fallen, while others have risen. We've seen some fantastic import success stories-- the mayor is an imPort.

That sort of model of success is important in any refugee community, imPort or otherwise, for the rest to see. Tells you that good things can happen in your lovely new home. I've got to keep this in mind myself, because I've spent the last couple of days looking for work -- journalism is a tough field regardless, and with nobody recognizing my credentials, and with no tapes or media or any of the lovely awards I have at home on my mantle -- it's going to be hard going.

So: how many of you imPorts took jobs below your skill levels to get by? Just to give me an idea of what I'm looking at here. Right now I'd be happy to get into an edit room or clerical pool, if it'll get me back in my field, but the pickings are looking pretty slim...